


Puzzles with Auntie (GND)

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [24]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Dementia, Dessert & Sweets, F/M, Family Drama, Flirting, Neighbors, Old Age, Sam is a Saint, Sam is a Sweetheart, Set in Sunnydale, Sunnydale, Suspicions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: Sam delivers on his promise to help Jada with her aunt and learns something interesting about Dottie in the process.





	

“Sam, our lives are already a shit storm of crazy, and you’re tellin’ me you signed up for more crazy?” Dean, poking around under the couch for loose socks, had just popped over to change his clothes and grab his dirty laundry before heading back to Buffy’s.

Placing his dishes in the sink, Sam ran through his conversation with Jada in his head again. He couldn’t shake the image of Jada crying on the roof after having spent her whole day with her aunt, waiting on her dead uncle. “If you’d seen her, you’d do the same. She just looked so sad!”

Dean snorted. “Don’t take much. That girl is fifty percent puppy eyes.”

Other than hunters who had lost their minds or who had blabbed about their crazy lives to the wrong people and gotten locked up, Sam wasn’t experienced with mental illness. Not this sort of mundane nightmare at least. It couldn’t be easy, yet until last night, Jada had kept up the pleasantries and illusion that caring for a loved one who was out of touch with reality was a walk in the park.

Pleasantries was Jada in a nutshell. She was always well-groomed with long shining hair, full makeup, and dressed in ladylike pinks. Even last night’s “unsightly” pajamas were the sort of silky, monogrammed set only seen in movies. No matter her mood, her bright white smile always flashed against her dark skin. During their brief chats in the hall, she was always sweet. She made caring for someone with dementia seem easy, so when she broke down and gave Sam a peak at the darkness behind the curtain, he didn’t want to let her down.

“It’s not a big deal, Dean. You’re going to be with Buffy all day, and I didn’t have plans other than reading. It’s not like I think it’s going to be a barrel of laughs, but I’m not going to leave her hanging out to dry if I can help.”

Zipping his duffle, Dean shook his head in disbelief. “That’s a crappy first date, pal.”

“It’s not a date.”

All these years later, Dean’s Sammy-likes-a-girl smirk was still the same. “Don’t tell me you don’t wanna ask her out. She bakes and she’s crazy-hot. Also, not a monster unlike your last three.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend to get back to?”

With a two-finger salute and that smirk still plastered on his face, Dean left.

It was just after lunch when Sam, smoothing his shirt, knocked on Dottie Johnson’s door. After a minute, padlocks started to withdraw until all that was standing between him and the inside was a brass chain and a squinting old lady.

“I don’t want any band candy. Go away!”

“Mrs. Johnson, it’s Sam from next door? I came over for coffee and cookies last week, remember?”

“Scoot!” she shouted, slamming the door shut.

Seconds later, Jada – smiling and dressed in a brown dress suit with pink pinstripes – opened the door wide. “Aunt Dottie, you remember Sam from next door. I invited him over.”

“Too tall. Too late! You missed church. Can’t be trusted.”

Still smiling, Jada sighed, clearly too tired to point out it was Saturday.

Sam closed the door behind him and picked up Marmalade who was circling his feet. “You’re avid church-goers?”

“I didn’t grow up religious, but Autie’s always enjoyed it, more so the last few years.” Jada motioned toward her head, indicating the devotion and dementia were connected. “Even makes me wear a cross.”

She disappeared into the kitchen. “I was just making some egg salad sandwiches for lunch. Would you like one?”

“No, thank you. I had a late breakfast.”

“Doesn’t eat. Sleeps all day,” the old woman grumbled, shuffling close to Sam.

Without warning, she shoved Sam, the cat still purring in his arms, against the wall. He knocked his head against a sharp, hard decoration. Reaching up to rub his sore head disturbed the fat tabby who leapt from his arms with a parting scratch.

Dottie stepped back, her dark eyes no longer accusing. “Well that’s settled,” she said before sitting down at the dinner table.

Beside the door was a line of three crosses. “Were you – were you testing me?”

“Can’t be too careful,” Dottie replied as Jada emerged from the kitchen with plates of sandwiches and fresh vegetables.

“What are we being careful about?” Jada asked.

“Egg salad. Spoilt mayonnaise’ll make a body sick.” Dottie, her eyes bright and clear, stared at Sam while she spoke.

“Auntie, you know I grew up in a kitchen. I just pulled this from the fridge, and since I made it myself, I trust the cook.”

“Good girl.” She took a plate and dug in like she was starving.

“You grew up in a kitchen?” Sam asked as he put the cat down and sat at the table far from Dottie.

“Always at my parents’ feet. They had a bakery in San Francisco. Life was flour and frosting,” she said before popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.

Sam grinned as he pictured her, small and smiling, with flour on her nose and patent leather shoes. “So of course, you got a business degree.”

“Baking is less fun when people are telling you what to make and when. Uptight brides are a nightmare! Mom and Dad needed someone to do the books, and I’ve always loved math. Numbers don’t have unreasonable deadlines and expectations.

“What about you, Sam? What drew you to library science?”

“Short boring story: I like books. This is my first position since college.”

He glanced at the old woman finishing the last of her sandwich, a bit of egg salad stuck on her bottom lip. “What about you, Mrs. Johnson? What brought you to Sunnydale?”

She fixed her gaze on him and growled, “Death.”

“Auntie, it sounds so macabre when you say it like that.” Even when chastising her aunt, Jada wore a small smile on her lips. Only her lips. She looked tired even though it was only lunch time. “Aunt Dottie and Uncle Jim made coffins.”

“Lotta death in Sunnydale,” the old woman said as she scooped up the cat. “Good for business.”

Sam grinned at her macabre practically. “Your customers were probably easier to deal with than brides.”

The old woman gave him a half smile, and reached out to pat his hand. “You may not be so bad.”

When lunch was done, Sam insisted on cleaning up, even though he hadn’t eaten. A couple times while eating in the silence, Jada started to nod off. What fits had Dottie thrown since he’d spoken with Jada on the roof?

Jada’s voice was still chipper and steadfast as he eavesdropped from the kitchen. “Auntie, since you’re finished with lunch, would you like to work on your puzzle?”

“No! You always hide the pieces on me!” the old woman said bitterly.

“Auntie, I told you, that puzzle is missing a piece. I didn’t hide it. Marmalade probably knocked it on the floor.”

“No! It’s you! You’re always hiding things, making me look crazy, but I’m not crazy.” Dottie’s voice rose to a hoarse yell. “You’re hiding Jim from me now! I want to go to him. Why won’t you let me see him?”

Rushing out from the kitchen, Sam saw Jada with her hands over her mouth in horror as Dottie threw puzzle pieces around the room.

“Where’s Jim? Where’s _Jim_?!”

“Mrs. Johnson?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Who are you? Jada, who is this man? Why is he in my house?” The old woman rushed to her niece’s side clinging to her like a child seeking her mother’s protection.

Sam did what he always did when he didn’t want to frighten someone: he crouched down. “I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Sam Winchester. I just moved to town. I wanted to go for a walk since it’s so nice out, but I don’t know where to go. Do you think you could give me a tour of the neighborhood?”

Dottie’s brow smoothed as the worry ebbed away. She tentatively put her hand out to hold Sam’s. “Are you lost, child?”

“Yes, ma’am. I don’t know my way around.”

“Let me get my coat,” said the old woman, shuffling to her bedroom.

Jada mouthed _thank you_ , the words stuck deep inside of her. She stared at the ground, her lips quivering, shoulders slumped. The light gone out of her.

Sam rubbed one of her arms while holding her face with the other hand. “Promise me you’ll get some sleep while we’re out, okay? You can’t take care of someone if you run yourself into the ground.”

She nodded once and slipped away, leaving him to wait for Dottie alone.

* * *

 

Jada retreated to her bedroom, her hands pressed tightly between her knees as she waited for her aunt and neighbor to leave.

Two weeks prior, Jada had received a frantic, late-night call from her beloved aunt crying about her neighbors fighting in the hall. “There’s blood everywhere, child. I think the blonde one’s dead!”

Dottie had been in a slow decline for years, but the increase in vampire stories since last winter had Jada worried. Violent neighbors, however, could be very real, and Jada hurriedly packed that night to come stay with her aunt for however long it would take.

Jada released a heavy sigh. What had she expected? There was no getting better in this scenario. There was only keeping Dottie from hurting herself as she marched toward the end. But she’s spent too many summers in Dottie’s care to leave her alone.

When she was seven, Jada challenged her brother to a climbing contest, imagining they could reach the tip top of the oak by Dottie’s woodshop and touch the puffy clouds. Instead, Jada slipped, crashed through the branches, and landed with a _snap_ in her arm. At the hospital, Dottie adjusted Jada’s barrettes as they waited for the doctor.

“It’s okay to cry, Sweets Girl,” she said as Jada bit her tongue, refusing to show how much pain she was in.

_It’s okay to cry._

The front door closed, and Jada was left alone.

Today was not for crying. This was her new normal.

She hadn’t expected Sam. He’d said he’d come over to help, but no one really promises anything like that. No one puts themselves out to help a stranger. Her ex-fiance couldn’t even be bothered the last time she had a crisis. They’d broken up less than a year ago. If there was one person she felt she should be able to rely on, it was the man she was going to marry, but he was practically married to his office. Now a complete stranger was treating her better.

Marmalade happily nuzzled her legs as Jada knelt on the floor and ripped the tape off a box her mother sent. It was a few odds and ends she’d asked for – her winter coat, favorite cookbook, extra clothes and such. There was also a brief letter.

_I ran into Tyler. He’s getting married next week. Thought you should know._

“Wow, he didn’t waste a minute, did he?” she grumbled to the cat before scooping her up and heading to the couch.

* * *

 

To Sam’s surprise, he and Dottie had a great time. She delighted not just in showing him around town, but also in teaching him Sunnydale history. Strong themes ran through her narrative: the mall ruined downtown, modern architecture was the worst, nearly every building had hosted a grisly murder.

Over hot cocoa at The Espresso Pump, she leaned toward him and whispered, “It’s the vampires. Whole city’s full of them, but no one believes me.”

So she had been testing him at the apartment. But less than an hour before, she’d been crying for her long-dead husband. Maybe the fresh air and exercise had awakened her healthier mind. She seemed alert, aware. He had to know how solid her idea of vampires was. “I wouldn’t take it personally, Mrs. Johnson. It’s probably the vampires they don’t believe in. What makes you say it’s vampires and not weird gang activity?”

“Gangs don’t kill morticians and coroners. Gangs shoot people. Stab people. They don’t fork people in the neck. And neck ruptures? That’s not medicine. Doctors don’t know anything. Why, the doctors think I’m sick, but look at me!” She thumped her chest with her gnarled fist. “Like an ox.

“You need to be careful, child. Stay inside at night. If you can’t, wear a cross and carry holy water. You’re a big boy, but you’re no match for a vampire. They’re devilishly strong.”

“Where did you learn all of this?”

Dottie flashed a bright, wide smile and suddenly she was Jada. “I know a thing or two.”

“And Jada doesn’t see it?”

The old woman waved her hands in dismissal. “She is all brain, always has been. She didn’t even believe in Santa when she was a girl. She couldn’t believe in vampires if you showed her one.”

Jada sleepily peeked over the back of the couch when they returned. “Did everything go alright?”

“There weren’t any poppies, my dear. I’m so sorry. Poppies are Jada’s favorite,” Dottie said to Sam. “The pink and black ones. Pink is her favorite color.” Without another word, the old woman shuffled to her room to take a much needed nap.

“Poppies?”

“I’m kind of glad they’re not in season,” Sam said as he handed her a mocha. “I think she would have started picking flowers from the landscaping. She was dead set on bringing you some.”

“That’s sweet,” she said, the smile back in her eyes.

He wasn’t sure if she meant the flowers or the coffee.

“Any other incidents?” Jada asked as she scurried about the apartment, picking up puzzle pieces and rearranging pillows and blankets in between sips of coffee, returning the house to a magazine-perfect state.

Dottie had been frightened by a dog, so frightened she tried to jump on Sam’s back. She had also told him that the skating rink hosted alligator wrestling in the summer. “Not really. She likes talking about Sunnydale history. I think that kept her focused.”

“So she was telling you vampire stories then?”

Sam shrugged, neither wanting to add to Jada’s stress nor out Dottie.

Jada shook her head. “She can’t tell the difference between reality and fiction anymore. You may have noticed the Sunnydale library has an odd amount of books on vampires, witches and other silly things. At least she hasn’t tried to stake anyone. She told me once there’s supposed to be some sort of superhero that deals with vampires. Do you read a lot of fantasy, Sam?”

“A few classics – _Lord of The Rings, Watership Down_ , but mostly I like histories.”

“Me too,” she said, grinning ear to ear. “I feel like the world is full of too many real problems to go about making them up, and too many real heroes are unsung while we ramble on about Batman and Spiderman and – I don’t know – Animalman. It’s all silliness to me.

“Cake?” Before he could even answer, she’d disappeared into the kitchen, emerging with two plates. “Homemade angel food with raspberry compote.”

Sam took a small bite, the light sweetness washing over his tongue and eliciting a small moan of pleasure. Jada definitely knew her way around a kitchen.

“My Uncle Jim was a war hero, you know,” she said between bites of cake. “No one sings songs or writes books about him, but three soldiers came back from Vietnam who wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for him.”

“Must run in the family,” he said, taking another bite .

Confusion washed over her face. “What do you mean?”

“Your uncle gave his life for other people, and here you are basically doing the same for your aunt.”

She waved away the compliment. “I’m just taking care of family. That’s not heroic. That’s family. Besides, I’m not giving up my life.”

“Even you have to admit you’re not living the typical twenty-something life.”

A dimness flitted over her face, but it disappeared just as quickly once the tabby started rubbing against her legs, purring. “Typical and good are not the same. I’m living my life, and I’m living it the best I can.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“Oh, Sam, you don’t need to apologize. Far from it! Thank you for being my hero today. You had no reason to come over here, but you did.”

He looked her straight in the eyes. “I wouldn’t say _no_ reason.”

She bit her lip and turned away. “Still, I feel like I owe you a bigger thank you than a slice of cake. I can’t throw you a parade or convince people you’re a superhero, but I’d like to make you dinner, if that works for you. Your place?”

It was his turn to present a big smile. “That sounds way better than a parade.”


End file.
